


Off the Map

by novembersmith



Category: Supernatural, due South
Genre: Crack, Gen, Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersmith/pseuds/novembersmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean looks good in red, Sam is a dog, and Castiel needs a smoke.</p><p> </p><p>IE, A missing snippet from 5.08 of <i>Supernatural</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Map

**Author's Note:**

> From [](http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/profile)[**clex_monkie89**](http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/)'s [Changing Channels](http://clex-monkie89.livejournal.com/742063.html) meme, where many many brilliant ficlets lurk.

"Don't look at me, pal, at least you're not dressed like frickin' Santa Claus," Dean said glumly.

Sam whuffed and laid his head on his paws.

Dean sighed and tipped his hat to a nearby pedestrian. The hat tipping, he had discovered, was apparently mandatory, unless he wanted the Trickster to make his already horrifically uncomfortable--and starchy, what the _hell_\--pants even tighter.

"Oh, Constable," the middle-aged lady trilled, fluttering her eyelashes. "You do make visiting Canada such a pleasure."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Dean said through gritted teeth, ignoring his asshole of a brother, whose tail was wagging smugly. Alright, so at first Dean had gloated a little that Sam kept ending up as the non-human one.

"Shut your snout, mutt," Dean hissed down at Sam, who just cocked a doggy ear and then, with an air of insufferable smugness, raised a leg and bent his head and--

"Oh, that is just--Sam, that is just inappropriate!"

A passerby shot him an odd look and Dean hastily tipped his hat and went back to staring straight ahead, like the world's weirdest, friendliest statue. The worst part of this, somehow, was that every time he forgot what he was doing and started slouching lazily against the wall, some pale broad or overly enthusiastic fellow Santa-clone popped out of the Consulate and either glared or rambled at him until his brain attempted to escape out his ears.

"And I'm not jealous!" he hissed at Sam out of the corner of his mouth. He was totally jealous. "It's disturbing, okay!"

Sam just ignored him and kept going to town--right there! In the middle of the street! There were children around! Which Dean knew because three of them had ambushed him earlier and made him rescue a goddamn kitten from a tree.

Just when Dean was about to break character and kick Sam in the head--he'd suffer the tight pants and creepy Turnstile guy, it would be _so worth it_\--he heard a familiar rumble.

Sam's head shot up.

"No, it can't be her," Dean told him absently, peering down the street. "No way. I mean, damn, dude, apparently I _walk _everywhere in this crazy universe." Which just wasn't safe. He'd walked down the block to pick up a hotdog and a giant pretzel earlier, and at least four different women and two men had tried to molest him. If Sam hadn't been there to chase that last accountant off, Dean would probably still be cornered at the street light, babbling politely and holding his hat protectively in front of his crotch.

So anyway, the point was, Dean couldn't be hearing what he thought he was hearing, except, really, it really did sound like--

The Impala careened down the street and came to a lurching stop in front of the Consulate.

Sam barked indignantly.

"No kidding," Dean said, eyes narrowing. "I'm gonna kill him. Somehow."

Castiel leapt out of the driver's side and, whoa, he hadn't seen Cas without his trenchcoat in ages. He was kinda rocking the punk look, actually. Dean would have complimented him on it, except he was busy trying to make his body give Castiel the finger--if there was so much as a scratch on his car--

"Dean," Castiel said, eyes huge and hair spiky. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Dean, I have had so much coffee, and also I think we have to go arrest a clown."

"Hoo, boy," Dean said, and straightened his serge. Sam had already leapt through one of the open windows and was sitting in the passenger seat, tongue lolling out and ears up, shedding all over Dean's upholstery. Dean glared at him. Sam stared back serenely, secure in his adorable puppy-dog wolf face. The jerk.

"Look, you really think arresting some clown'll help us escape?" he asked Castiel, who was looking remarkably--twitchy.

"It is possible that if I can incorporate myself into the fabric of this reality, the Trickster will overlook my presence, and we may be able to find a weakness in the plotline, and--"

"Breathe, Cas," Dean said in alarm, and then sighed. Well, worst came to worst, he did hate clowns. "Fine, we'll go arrest your circus freak. But you know what?"

As per usual, Castiel did not appear to know what. Dean smiled smugly.

"I don't care what kind of alternate reality this is," he said, holding out a hand for the keys. "I'm driving."  
 

"Um, Dean?" Castiel said a few minutes later, voice edging into a higher octave than Dean was used to.

"What?" Dean said, then shoved at his brother again. "Sam, if you don't get your nose outta my ear in the next two seconds, swear to god we're taking an emergency stop at the vet. Capiche?"

Sam whuffled and licked his cheek, then settled down in the seat next to him. Dean sighed and reached over to scratch his neck, stifling a small smile when Sam leaned into his hand. Maybe this channel-changing business wasn't all bad.

"Good to see you boys getting along for once," a low voice said approvingly from the back seat.

Dean nearly took out a passing group of school children and an elderly crossing guard.

"My apologies!" he called out of the window, wincing as he tipped his hat. The guard flipped him off and Sam snorted.

"Dean," John said disapprovingly. Dean shot a hesitant glance up in the rearview mirror. John frowned at him and Dean instinctively went straighter in his seat and put his hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. "I know you're a better driver than that, son. You're letting a little paranormal apparition interfere with your driving, now? I once had to deal with a pack of Women in White, and I tell you what, I never once took my eyes off the--"

Sam cut him off with a high-pitched bark. Dean was in total agreement.

"Some things never change," John sighed.

"Castiel, what the _fuck_!" Dean said, coasting the Impala to a stop in front of the no-parking zone at the post office. Whatever, he was a Mountie, and this was an emergency. "Is that actually--"

Castiel shrugged helplessly, spreading his arms.

"I believe so, yes. The Trickster is much stronger than I could have anticipated," he said, frowning and running a hand through his hair. "There's something not right, if I could just think--I feel like I need, what are they, a cigarette?" Dean turned around in his seat to gape at him. "Yes. Dean, I need a cigarette."

"No smoking in the car," John said, raising an eyebrow at Castiel, who blinked at him and--oh, Dean could not even deal with Castiel, pouting at his _Dad_. John leaned forward. "Now, if you boys are ready to actually get down to business, here's what we're going to do--"


End file.
